


Deviations.

by nogoodbi



Series: Deviations: A Series [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, For Want of a Nail, Gen, Post-Avengers (2012), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-02-09 05:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoodbi/pseuds/nogoodbi
Summary: The actions of the surviving Avengers in their mission to retrieve the Infinity Stones in the past created many alternate timelines. Things happened differently, but similar in many ways.In 2012, Steve reminisces on the events of the battle in New York, but something doesn't quite add up.





	1. I

**2012**

_Bucky is alive._

The words.. the _idea_ rang in his head.

It all started a few days after New York.

Thor had gone away to chase after Loki, Banner had his own baggage to deal with, and Tony was Tony. That left the only two “normal” members of the team for Steve to talk to.

Back before the ice, Steve had made it a habit to sit with his comrades— the Howling Commandos— and have drinks with them regularly. Building rapport and strengthening friendships was part of it— but it was also because they’d seen the same stuff he’d seen in the battlefield. It was easier to talk to them about it. Present day— it was the same with his new comrades.

There was also the fact that he didn’t exactly have that many _friends_ in the 21st century.

The topic of Loki’s brainwashing was brought up. His scepter that brought people under his control when it was touched to one’s chest.

“When I.. when you wake up from it, you remember _some_ details, but it’s weird. It’s like… a dream.”, Clint had said. “The things I remember doing.. I remembered them making sense when I did it— but..”

He emptied his drink before continuing.

“Yeah. It sucked. The boys at HQ started up a sort of.. support group, for lack of a better word, for the ones who got _turned_. All of them— all of us, we got blood on our hands.”

“Shit.” was the response that came from Natasha. Steve was silent after that, digesting what he had heard.

“Yeah. Hard to sleep at night knowing that bastard’s still out there.”

Steve sighed. Even with the Commandos, he couldn’t help but to give himself blame whenever a mission went south.

Loki had messed with _him_ too. He told the other two, about his encounter with the trickster god and how he had disguised himself in Steve’s own image.

He noticed Natasha’s eyes as he spoke, and like her— he realized how little of what he was saying made sense.

“But— he didn’t leave with the scepter. SHIELD has it.”, Natasha said.

Steve nodded, then paused. “I know— I returned it myself.”

“So you got it off him?”

“No— it was there when I woke up— “

The three of them shared a look.

_It didn’t add up._

The details of the encounter had been a blur, which Steve blamed the use of the scepter on. But as he thought about it, more details started coming back to him, and it made less and less sense.

Sounds and sensations were easier to recall than the whole picture.

_A crash of clashing metal, punches thrown, glass broken, falling to the floor._

He fought Loki. Hand-to-hand. He had been an equal match to him, even copied his style of fighting. _Didn’t make sense_

And his shield. He had _his_ shield.

_If that wasn’t Loki—_

Then Steve remembered what he said.

_No…_

“Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Loki can read minds with the scepter?”

He thought for a moment, then answered. “Um.. he made me tell him things. Intel on the Helicarrier, things about— things about Nat. If he could, I don’t think he would have done that.”

“Steve?” Natasha said. “Why’d you ask?”

That was it. _He wouldn’t have known about Bucky._

—

The uniforms of the Howling Commandos were displayed alongside his own— which stood in the middle, mannequin posed with the old design of his shield. Bucky’s stood at his right.

_A symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery and sacrifice._

_Denied enlistment due to poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American warfare. One that would transform him into the world's first super soldier._

The automated voice spoke on and on. It was both surreal and nostalgic, seeing his own life story displayed in a museum. Captain America, a part of history. Kids at school must’ve learned about him, wrote essays on his life and how it affected the world.

Kids who were now grown up, even. _Did Tony? Fury even?_

Steve couldn’t imagine how strange it must have been, meeting him. A part of history, walking into their lives.

His focus trailed off, and he found the display dedicated to his best friend.

_Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country._

He thought about the what the other Steve Rogers said to him.

If it were true, where was he now? Was he alive and well, having spent a normal life after miraculously surviving that fall?

The answer came to him through a call from Natasha. He picked up.

“Found something?”

“Yeah. But you’re not gonna like it.”

“Is he..”

“No.”, she interrupted. “He _is_ alive. In a sense.”

“What?”

“Check what I sent you. Throw away the phone right after. Delete everything.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Steve. There’s no time. I can explain but— just put me on hold and watch.”

Natasha was a trained spy, and with that, she’d had years of experience to know how to keep her cool.

That meant something must have been _really_ wrong.

Steve found what she had sent him, a video.

It was footage from a security camera on the side of a road. A car crashing into a tree. A figure coming into view, both passengers, dead.

He recognized the male passenger. He’d known the man when he was younger, looked different— but he recognized him from photos taken during his later years.

_Tony said it was a car crash._

Howard Stark was murdered. The other passenger— that must’ve been his wife. Tony’s mother.

_He probably doesn’t know._

Having done the deed, the killer looked straight into the camera before shooting it, ending the footage. Steve swore under his breath.

It was a familiar face with an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

He continued the call.

“Nat, was that— “

“I’ve met him— once. Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

“But that was _Bucky._ ”

“I know. I dug into it— like you told me, ran a facial recognition on footage buried deep in the SHIELD archives. Listen, Steve, that’s not all I found.”

“What else?”

“I dug too deep, Steve, and I think they know.”

“Natasha— “

“SHIELD is compromised. Or— they’ve always been a part of this.. conspiracy. It runs deep, maybe even back when it was founded— “

“What are you saying?”

“SHIELD is HYDRA. And they just found out that we’re on to them. We need to run.”


	2. II

_“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car.”_

The words were not of the soldier’s native tongue, but they might as well have been.

_“Good morning, Soldier.”_

The Winter Soldier didn’t blink. His mind was clear, only the words and the man in front of him were present.

“ _Ready to comply.”_

The man set down a handful of files on the table. _His mission_. As he looked over them, he could almost recognize the woman in the picture attached; the redhead. His mind was clear; he had no intention in following that particular train of thought.

_“Natasha Romanov. She has acquired intel that would be… compromising to the cause. Eliminate her.”_

The Winter Soldier’s silence was his compliance. There were more than the Romanov woman in the files. He looked at the man; his handler.

_“The world has changed since we last needed you. Will this be a problem?”_

The Soldier was focused intently on the files, not looking up when he said, _“If they get in the way?”_

_“You have permission to kill.”_

_Five_ other people of interest, all in association with the target. An archer, a scientist, a philanthropist inventor, a man from a world beyond… the Soldier had seen less strange things.

 _The fifth one._ The man out of time.

“ _See anything interesting, Soldier?”_ his handler asked.

The Winter Soldier was unsure.

 _“The world hasn’t changed much._ ”

—

The files Natasha gave him were _damming._ Not just for all the individuals who were the subject, but for Tony himself, who is now in possession of _very_ sensitive information.

_Cursed with knowledge, as they say._

He pulled out the flash drive.

“Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You know what to do,”

“I assure you sir, there will be no trace of those files left in our database, I’m making sure of that as we speak.”

Tony exhaled. He was alone at his mansion in Malibu, sitting in his garage hours past midnight. Pepper was in another state; company business.

He wanted to call, but didn't want to worry her; being up this late. Pepper wouldn’t be surprised, of course, but Tony still didn’t want to confirm her worries: He _still_ couldn’t sleep. Not since _New York_.

He clutched his left hand with his right, an involuntary impulse. It was shaking, now.

It hadn’t been long since then, which made it all the more frustrating that _this_ had to come up all of a sudden.

Tony had literally been minding his own business, grabbing some local coffee on the way to the newly christened Avengers Tower, when Natasha bumped into it wearing a cap and sunglasses. The “disguise” did nothing to hide her bright red hair, which was one part of what gave her away for Tony.

The _second_ thing that gave her away was the conspicuous flash drive that had suddenly materialized in his pocket. Attached to it was a brief note: _Trust no one._

Tony had _never_ trusted them; SHIELD, Fury, _none_ of them. Natasha knew that.

Tony wanted to pick up his tools and continue to work on his latest suit. Parts of it were on his work table; unpainted, more grey than silver. He’d made vast improvements on the rapid deployment system of the Mark VII, ditching that version’s _transport_ mode functionality in favour of a design that made it much quicker to put on.

He couldn’t focus.

“Mr. Stark?” JARVIS called.

A video had been highlighted among the files Natasha sent. He’d watched it.

The car crash. The _murder._

 _They_ had been responsible. For Howard and Maria.

Howard and _Mom._

Tony didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his tools and started working. He would _need_ the suit, sooner or later. More sooner than later. SHIELD was HYDRA, and he needed to prepare. He would act _before_ they knew any better, before they sent somebody after him.

—

On the outskirts of 10880 Malibu Point, the Winter Soldier watched.

He dialed his contact on a burner phone; a man by the name of _Pierce._

 _“_ Stark. He knows.” the Soldier said.

Pierce audibly sighed on the other end. “Take him out.”

The Soldier had been prepared to; he’d read the file. The philanthropist, the genius. He relies on his technology.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Pierce added. “If the Widow told Stark, the _others_ might know as well. Keep a close eye on them. If they _do…._ ”

“I understand.”

The Winter Soldier charged the EMP device.


	3. III

The night vision goggles tinged the Soldier’s surroundings green. The top floors had been empty; the bug he’d planted on the target suggested that he was downstairs.

The garage was also his workshop, and his armory.

A display of six armored suits was the most prominent feature of the floor. From left to right, there was visible evolution that went on with the design; from large and unwieldy to sleeker aesthetic like that of a modern sports car.

The pulse had shut them all down, and the expressionless faceplates of the suits stared the Soldier down with their dark, slit-like eyeholes.

_Metal suits._

He held his rifle two-handed. His right could feel the weapon’s trigger, while his left barely even felt the weight of the gun.

It was metal; cold, and bloodless. Some days, he wasn’t sure if it had even been flesh, once upon a time. _Was he created like this?_

The Soldier did his best to shrug off that thought. His mind had to be clear; there was only the mission: find the target.

—

Tony stood silently, sweating and holding his breath. One wrong move and he’d be dead.

The darkness wasn’t in Tony’s favor, but he could see the silhouette of the assassin. Large, hair long enough to go over his face, a rifle in hand. He hadn’t been sure, but when the man turned, Tony could see the tell-tale glint of the metal left arm.

It was _him_.

When the opportunity arose, he _had_ to act. His parents’ killer glanced at the Hall of Armors, the dots of the night vision goggles he wore trailed over each suit, one by one. There seemed to be intrigue in him.

When he took his attention away and made the mistake of walking past the Mark I display, Tony struck.

He knocked the weapon off the intruder’s grip, taking advantage of the enhanced strength the Mark I suit gave him. He kicked at the assassin’s chest, flinging him into the worktable with the armor he had been working on.

The EMP took out the advanced systems and power of the other suits— even taking JARVIS out of the equation— but the Mark I runs on manual.The only power source it needed was the one buried deep in Tony’s chest cavity.

When he’d rebuilt it after the fiasco with his former partner, Obadiah Stane, he did mainly to keep the Mark I as a display piece; show his origins, and how far he’s come since then.

He never intended to ever _wear_ it again, nor did he expect that it would ever be of use to him again. Because of that, he’d neglected to fuel the suit’s flamethrowers or thruster system, and it was without the wrist-mounted rocket.

Nothing in the arsenal but brute strength and Tony’s own intuition.

He put a foot down on the assassin chest while his hand was in position in front of it. Before he could start to struggle, Tony went for the face, smashing a fist into the night vision goggles.

He punched repeatedly, the assassin’s head ping-ponging on the hard floor. Tony only stopped when he stopped struggling.

“That was for my _mom.”_

On his way upstairs, he found the assassin’s weapon and broke it in half. He kept the suit on just in case, which gave him some difficulty in managing the stairs. He forgot how _clumsy_ the Mark I was. The adrenaline rushing through him didn’t help. Tony blinked away tears; he didn’t remember crying.

He had to get _help._ With the power out, he couldn’t call for anyone from inside the house, so he had to get out—

Tony’s train of thought was cut short by the assassin’s metal arm wrapping around his neck from behind. The armor was strong, but he was _heavy._

Tony spun and struggled, and he managed to grab a hold of the assassin. He flung him across the room; the impact he’d made on one of the large windows on one end of the room _cracked_ it.

The assassin leapt into a stance before Tony could think of his next move. He held a large knife in his flesh-and-blood hand. His face was bloodied, no longer wearing the broken goggles. Illuminated by the moonlight coming from the windows, his stare looked _animal_.

Tony went for a boxer’s stance; arms up, feet firmly planted.

The assassin lunged at him with the knife, driving it into chinks in the Mark I suit. Whatever material it was made of, it was strong enough to rip chunks out of the outer plates. The armor on his arm and chest had taken the worst of the damage.

Tony swung a right hook, which connected _hard._ The assassin only looked more pissed, not showing any signs of wearing out. Tony kept throwing punches, having caught the hand holding the knife mid-swing with his left. He’d twisted it, and the knife clattered to the ground.

He kicked the weapon away from them as the skirmish advanced towards the cracked window. The Malibu Mansion had a beachside view; and if the assassin couldn’t be escorted out through the front door, the window would be the exit for him.

Tony kicked at the assassin—  then pinned him to the window with his foot. The cracks spider-webbed with each strike— the assassin the nail, and Tony’s foot the hammer.

He emphasized the blows with his words, “Get. Out. Of. My. House!”

The assassin’s expression stayed the same— an unblinking, predatory glare.

The window was on the verge of breaking, when the assassin caught Tony’s foot with his metal arm. Tony managed to stay standing when his foot was pushed back. He reacted by throwing another punch, but the assassin caught it. His arm was pulled away until something gave out, sparks coming off exposed wiring. His hand had been crumpled, and Tony could feel _something_ break.

When the assassin let go, he followed up by driving his fist into the faceplate. It didn’t connect with Tony’s actual face, but his head was driven back into the helmet, hitting metal. His vision briefly doubled, then he saw metal fingers digging into the eyeholes of the helmet. The assassin tore away the faceplate like it was cardboard, leaving no protection for Tony’s face.

The assassin went to grab at Tony’s face, but before he could do anything else, Tony pushed his body close, wrapping both arms around the assassin. The assassin’s arm was pinned against himself as Tony put more force into the bear hug.

The two were face-to-face, and the assassin’s expression hadn’t changed. Tony wasn’t even sure if he’d blinked.

“You came here to put me down?”

The assassin didn’t respond. _Could he even speak? Did he even understand words?_ Tony thought to himself. Tony spit at his face for no other reason than frustration.

He only had seconds to think. If Tony had been a target, Natasha must have been, too. _But how far does it stretch?_ It wouldn’t be an unfair assumption that the _other_ Avengers would be targeted; how about their loved ones?

Tony didn’t put his next thoughts to words. He only closed his eyes.

_“Then I'll be taking you with me.”_

The combined weight of Tony in the Mark I and the assassin in his grip was enough to break the glass, and they plummeted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is appreciated, as always!


	4. IV

Two ground teams on black vans, a helicopter in the air, armed agents in pursuit on foot. In any other case, Natasha would be flattered.

She’d been through her fair share of dire straits— alone, even— but this was different.

An arrow flew through the open window of the apartment. Natasha covered her ears, but the piercing wail of the sonic arrow stung. Glass shattered and she could feel her bones rattle. She chose to hide rather than run.

A second arrow flew in; a grapple arrow. In came the archer. _Clint._

He hadn’t been brainwashed, this time.

Clint put a finger to his earpiece. “Clear.”

Other agents grappled into the room. Masked, nameless goons. Natasha had a guess that they weren’t in on the full story.

She rolled out from under the bed, right behind one of the agents. A hand over his mouth, arm around neck. Before the others could notice, she dodged away into the dark.

She didn’t have all her equipment. _Her wrist stingers would have come in handy._

The others in the room took notice of one of their numbers crumpling to the floor, they trained their weapons at empty air.

Natasha went low, sweeping two agents off their feet while sliding under them towards the door. She pulled out a handgun from a third’s holster, then knocked him out with a strike with the grip.

She trained the gun at the last man in the room, who was aiming his bow at her.

“ _Nat.”_

“Barton.”

“Oh,” he recoiled his head back, eyes narrowed. “We’re back to _Barton_?”

“ _You’re_ back to pointing weapons at me,”

“Fair.”

The two lowered their weapons. Barton took his earpiece, dropped it, then smashed it with under his boot.

“We’re good?” said Natasha. Barton nodded. He carefully stepped over to the window, shutting it.

“Fury filled me in. We’ve got more inside people on our side. Hill, Morse, a bunch of others Fury trusts. Says he has a place set up.”

Barton threw her a burner phone. “Location pending.”

“That’s it?"

“Not sure. You can never tell, with Fury. Might already have a plan ready; just not sure when he’ll be ready to share.”

Natasha sighed. “Pain in the _ass._ ”

“Tell me about it. Sometimes I wonder if he’s actually in on it— “

“Let’s not even _joke_ about that.”

If _Fury_ had been a part of it, there’d be no hope for the rest of them.

“Right. Anyways, the scepter’s being moved to a remote location, overseas. Fury can’t keep his eye on it for any longer.”

“We’re on a time limit, then.”

“One more thing.” Clint added. “They got Stark.”

Natasha bit her lip. It might’ve been a mistake, pulling him into it.

“They’re _investigating_ it, in air quotes. But I’m _sure_ it’s a cover-up.”

Natasha swore.

“It’s— don’t blame yourself, Nat.”

She shut her mouth. The helicopter was audible, light streaming from the window shutters. Clint pulled out a smoke grenade and shoved it into her hand.

“You know what to do.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Clint exhaled a silent chuckle. “Just— not _too_ hard, alright?”

Before setting off the grenade and leaving the room, Natasha decked her friend in the face, knocking him out cold.

—

After having been onboard the Helicarrier as it took of several miles above open ocean, SHIELD’s main headquarters, the Triskelion, didn’t seem all that awe-inspiring to Steve. It was still large and impressive; the interior had a smooth and modern feel to it, which also made it feel _cold._

He found his way into the office of Alexander Pierce. Senior SHIELD official and Secretary of Internal Security. Pierce had invited him.

“Mr. Secretary,”

“Ah, Captain,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Steve stood, placing a hand on the headrest of the expensive looking chair. Pierce looked pleased.

“You know…. I didn’t know you had it in you,”

“Just doing my part, sir. Doing what I can to protect my country, nothing’s changed.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but how can I be sure..?”

“Trust me, Mr. Secretary. I’m sure your… subordinates filled you in?”

“Agent Sitwell did, yes. You should understand why I’m surprised…”

“I do,” Steve replied. “And _you_ should understand that I want the best for everyone. No matter the cost.”

On that note, reinforced shutters eclipsed the windows and entrance of the room. Without the natural sunlight, the room was as dim as the atmosphere presented. Pierce gave a subdued smile. He stood up and offered Steve a hand.

“Hail Hydra.” he whispered. Steve took his hand and shook it.

“ _Hail Hydra.”_

Pierce _chuckled_. For a man with his prestige and position, it felt uncharacteristic.

“I still can’t believe it,” he said. “ _Captain America_ …”

“Now, tell me, Stark?”

“Taken care of, at a price…”

“Pardon?”

“Our… asset, who we’d sent, he went AWOL. Can’t find him; Stark’s body as well, for that matter.”

Steve repressed his worry and relief. “We can’t confirm Stark’s dead, then,”

“Our asset’s _very_ good at his job, Captain.” _Defensive?_

Pierce’s eyes seemed to be doing their best to look for chinks in Steve’s deception. “Feeling _sentiment_ for your friend, Captain?”

Steve bit back a curse. _This was Nat’s thing. Not his._

“ _Teammate._ Former teammate, really. With the situation at hand, the Avengers as you know it, are done.”

“Shame,” Pierce said. “It was a good idea, gotta hand Fury that.”

Steve resisted the urge to comment.

“Anyways. If you want, I could hook you up with a new team. Rumlow, STRIKE. They’re good men.”

“I’m sure.” Steve commented. “What’s the occasion?”

“Find our missing asset.”

_There it was._

“You’re the most qualified, considering the asset’s skillset. He’s enhanced, with decades of training and experience.” Pierce pulled out a file from a drawer under the desk.

Steve saw the image attached. _Bucky._ Masked, hair unkempt, eyes sunken with dark paint around his eyelids. His stare…

_Decades_ of twisting and warping by HYDRA. Steve couldn’t imagine…

“Captain?”

Steve unclenched his fist, doing his best to not make eye contact with the secretary. He picked up the file to give it a read, later on.

“I’ll bring him back.”

_Bring him back. From whatever nightmare they’ve put him through._


	5. V

Plummeting, hitting surface, then the _cold._

The ocean, but also not. The home; the _mansion,_ but also not. The _freight car._ The cries coming from his throat, the arm outstretched, pleading for an _out,_ a subversion of his fate. Every time, his fate is the same.

Plummeting, hitting surface, then the cold.

This time, there was a splash, and the impact was followed by _sinking._ No snow, but rushing water; metal arms holding him like a vice, pulling him down. He couldn’t breathe.

_Shock._

Limbs numb, preceded by pain he’d never felt. Different times, he’d feel the pain, again and again. Different times, he’d glance at the arm and see it as it was now: cold, bloodless, and metal. Then, it had been bloodied and broken.

_Phantom pains._

The sessions helped. The chair, the shock, the _words._ They’d erase the pain, the fall, the _fate,_ but only for so long.

_This was why they’d always put him under._

The current dragged him off, the target’s grip on him coming loose as the fall had affected _him_ too.

He felt weightless, as opposed to how it had been _before_ , when the men had found him and dragged him through the snow. His arm— now cold and bloodless, then bloodied and broken— hadn’t been there when he looked.

Lack of breathing— of oxygen— was a hazard. Hazards to his bodily function was detriment to the _mission._

_His programming had won through._

As broken and cold and beaten as he was, he had to _survive._

Painstakingly, agonizingly, his arms and legs moved him through the water; swimming. He had no direction, physically speaking. He didn’t stop until he found land.

Time was an odd thing. It always moved faster than he could perceive. Years would go by, and the only indication would be the subtle advancements he’d notice; phones shrunk, roads got more crowded with sleeker and sleeker vehicles. He would finish a task, rest, and when it was time that they needed him again, he couldn’t be sure how long it had been.

By the time he reached the beachside, the sunlight indicated midday. There were civilians, and they stared as he crawled then walked onto shore.

_Programming_ told him to find somewhere remote. _Low profile_ , regroup. Eyewitness was not ideal. Nourishment would also be a worry. He was more resilient than the average man, but he would still need rest and food to avoid fatigue.

Lifeguards were alerted to his appearance, then security. As uniformed men approached and surrounded him, he raised his arms.

He had to follow his programming.

—

“Found our mystery man,” Rumlow said.

Brock Rumlow, leader of SHIELD’s counter-terrorism team, STRIKE. The cover story was that the Winter Soldier acted under a rogue faction of the russian military. The attack on Stark had been their move to destroy the image of the Avengers, to show that the heroes who’d “supposedly” saved the world were only mortal; just as vulnerable as the citizens they protect.

In actuality, Rumlow’s team were some of the most loyal to HYDRA’s cause.

Steve studied the screen. Days ago, there had been reports of a man in an unspecified sort of military wear who had washed up on a beach in California, looking bruised and bloodied. The authorities took him in, and he escaped overnight. A hole had been torn in his cell wall.

Eyewitness reports pegged him hiding out in a motel down south.

“Good. You and your team take position here and here,” Steve pointed at two rooftops across the motel. “Give space for me to approach the target.”

“The hell, Cap?” Rumlow protested. “I thought you were a team player?”

“Nothing against your team, I just think it’s better I go alone as to not alarm him. And if things go south, I can deal with him up close.”

Rumlow thought about it and nodded. “Guess so.”

Steve left the briefing room to change into his new uniform. It was still recognizable as ‘Captain America’, but the blues were darker and the red was nonexistent. The extraction would take place at night, so it was fitting. Stylized stripes extended from the star emblem on the chest onto the shoulders, which were adorned with the SHIELD logo.

As soon as he finished, he walked into the hangar, onto the Quinjet they’d prepared. the rest of STRIKE had already boarded.

Rumlow eyed him and gave a mock wolf-whistle. “Lookin’ sharp, Cap!”

Steve barely acknowledged him. The only thing on his mind was _Bucky._ He sat on the far side of the jet as it took off.

—

He’d accidentally stabbed himself a few times, stitching his cuts in front of the bathroom mirror. There were two on his face that were prominent, and that’s not counting the bruises and the split lip. His metal hand didn’t give him much in terms of precision.

His hands weren’t meant to _heal._

Another prick, coming dangerously close to his eye. He cursed, hand coming down in a fist onto the sink. A chunk of it broke, falling onto his foot. He didn’t register it as pain. The clothes he’d stolen had ceramic dust on them, now. He brushed the most of it off with one hand, then continued the stitching.

The longer he looked at his own face in the mirror, the less it felt like his.

Confusion shifted to anger. _The programming advised against extreme emotion._

The _programming_ made him a slave. Not even that, a _tool_ . But he had a face, and with that a name, an identity. He searched what little memories he had for them; all he could find was plummeting, hitting surface, then _cold._

Without consciously ordering it, his fist broke the mirror.

_HYDRA._ They _used_ him. They’d sent him after targets like Stark. Anger boiled even more at the thought of the man who had bested him. The _target_ , who had fought back and nearly cost him his life.

_End HYDRA. and if by any chance he survived the fall, Stark._

Movement outside the room.

It could’ve been the cleaning services, who’d taken notice after the noise he’d made breaking the mirror and sink, but the door swung open despite it having been locked.

He pulled out the pistol he’d taken from the cops. Peeking through the bathroom’s open door, he saw man he’d only seen in pictures.

He’d changed his uniform, but the shield— circular with a star in the center— gave him away. He’d been a potential target. Captain America, the hero from World War II, miraculously found alive in the 21st century.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he aimed his pistol at the shield, not the man. He dropped it, arms raised. His eyes showed neither fear nor surprise.

Like he’d been expecting him. He’d been _looking_ for him.

“Why are you here?”

The captain carefully moved his hands towards his helmet, removing it. He set it down besides the shield.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Captain America. Steve Rogers.”

The answer seemed to upset him more than the pistol pointed at him. His lips tightened, and he exhaled before re-phrasing his question. “Do you know _me_?”

“I read your file.”

The captain was visibly frustrated. His posture relaxed and his arms were lowered. He didn’t come for a fight. The soldier lowered his gun.

“James Barnes,” the captain said.

_A name?_

_“_ Bucky.”

It meant _nothing_ to the soldier, but the way the captain _said_ it suggested it should.

“That’s your name. That’s you,” he pulled out a photo. Black and white, half a dozen men the soldier didn’t recognize. In the center, the captain, to his right…

“Me.”

“I _know_ you’re somewhere in there, Buck..”

The soldier hesitated. “I… no. They— they _took_ that from me.”

“HYDRA, yeah. Their men are around this building as we speak. They want to take you back.”

“And you?”

“I won’t let them.”

“How can I trust you?”

A pause, then the captain said, “You can.”

For some reason, the soldier believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a bit longer to write and post. i'm hoping to go for a more consistent schedule, ideally 2 a week?


	6. VI

Rumlow, Greer, Stevens, and Hamm. There was also the pilot of the Quinjet to take into account. Bucky’s restraints were reinforced, specialized just for him. Steve’s eyes stayed on his.

“Gotta hand it to you, Cap,” Rumlow said. “That went way smoother than I thought it would.”

Steve stayed silent.

“Y’know… I expected Captain America to be way chattier,”

Bucky’s restraints were designed just for him, but they had Steve put them on for him.

Greer and Hamm were the first to fall, courtesy of a single metal backhand each. Stevens had the chance to pull out a pistol and fire, but Steve stood and nudged him so that he missed. Bucky’s boot met his face and he crumpled.

Rumlow pulled out his pistol, but pressed it onto the side of Steve’s head.

“Hold it.” he said. Bucky stopped.

“I knew it. I  _ knew  _ something was up. You have a bad poker face, Cap. Could read you just by the way you were looking at— ARGH!”

His arm was twisted in a way it wasn’t meant to, gun pointed towards upwards.

“Faster—  than I— “

A gunshot interrupted Rumlow. Blood splattered the seat and some of Steve’s uniform. It had been instant.

“Bucky!”

“He figured out your cover. If we wanted to stick to your plan, we would have had to kill him anyways.”

“Jesus..”

“Well, that wouldn’t matter anyway, if our pilot had already radioed a warning.”

He trained his gun on the pilot, stepping towards him. Steve followed, trying to hold him back. “Wait— “

“It’s okay! It’s okay! I didn’t, I swear!” the pilot cried out. He threw his hands up. 

“You’re lying.” Bucky growled. A whimper escaped the pilot; he sounded  _ young. _

“Bucky— “

“I swear to  _ god!  _ Please— “ he pleaded. “I— i’ll help, I can take you where you need to go. Leave me alive.. I’ll cover for you.

_ Definitely on the younger side. _

“Sounds reasonable.” Steve said.

“ _ No.”  _ Bucky pressed his gun to the pilot’s head.

“Please— I.. Please don’t..”

Whimpering, sniffing, he was crying.

“Bucky…”

He wasn’t the James Barnes that Steve used to know.  _ This  _ is what he’d become, what HYDRA had turned him into. There was no use negotiating, at least in the moment, where time was of the essence.

Steve shut his eyes before the soldier pulled the trigger.

— 

He felt… unwell.

The programming made a tool out of him, a  _ weapon _ . To be used by HYDRA, but now he was without a wielder. Killing for self-preservation, that was a part of the programming.  _ No mercy. _

He followed, shooting the defenseless, whimpering man dead where he sat, but something was  _ wrong _ . Regret was not in the programming. It was an error, a  _ deviation. _

He threw down the gun. The captain checked the comms system, confirming that no transmissions were made. Their cover was safe, so long as the two left the Quinjet before the unconscious STRIKE operatives came to.

The captain would call in that the soldier had knocked him out and hijacked the jet all on his own. He’d call in, say that he came to before the others did and chased after the soldier all on his own, before losing contact. He could come back to them with minimal suspicion, if things went right.

Things were going right, it seemed. The two didn’t talk for most of it, barring the necessary exchanges.

It made the soldier uneasy. 

_ Why?  _ It was an unnecessary sensation. No use in the  _ mission.  _ No use for HYDRA. Was is necessary for.. whoever the soldier used to be?

_ Bucky. _ It was Bucky that felt uneasy. That  _ would  _ feel uneasy.

“S— Steve.” he rasped.

He turned and stopped on his tracks.

“I’m… sorry. I— I am.. I’m not sure who— what i’m supposed to be like. Or, I can’t be, who i’m supposed to be.  _ Bucky.” _

“Oh…” the captain said. “You  _ are _ Bucky. You  _ can  _ be.” He didn't sound like he believed himself.  


“You don’t get it. I’m.. changed. I don’t even know, what I need to know. No memories— clear ones, at least. All I have to go on is… this  _ thing  _ in my head… tells me what to do.’

“You don’t have to listen— “

“Not— how it works.  _ You _ try doing the opposite of what makes sense to you.”

The captain put his hands on the soldier’s shoulders. He tried shaking off his grip, but he was strong. “ _ Listen. _ Right now, you just follow  _ my  _ lead. That thing in your head, we can find a way to get it out of you, once everything’s settled.”

He let go, and the soldier nodded, avoiding looking at the captain’s face.

“I’ll comply.”

The captain sighed, and they made their way deeper into the woods.

A way to get rid of the programming? The soldier was unsure, but the captain’s words gave him hope.

_ No,  _ a voice whispered in his head.  _ Hope was against programming. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit on the short side, this time around.


	7. VII

In a gesture of generosity and kindness to his newfound friend, Tony had given Bruce Banner sanctuary in the newly christened Avengers Tower. As renovations were underway for fully fledged guest rooms, Bruce had temporarily found shelter in a lounge room on the top floor. 

His belongings— aside from a laptop and a couple of books— were mostly still in the suitcase that laid on one end of the couch. Said laptop and books were on the coffee table. Despite the noise of the renovations, Bruce was grateful to have a place with decent internet connection for him to continue his work; documenting his existence with an alternate, radiation powered self living inside him.

A little over midnight, and Bruce was struggling to fall asleep. He’d been doing his best to get off his reliance of sleeping pills. As he was starting to drift off,  _ something _ loud in the main room jolted him awake.

After the altercation with Loki in the very same room, they’d cleaned it up nicely. Shame then, that something had smashed window overlooking the city. There was a smoke trail, though Bruce couldn’t tell if it was from something that entered or exited.

“Apologies for the ruckus, Doctor Banner.” A voice with no source said to Bruce. Despite how long he’d stayed at the building, he still had trouble getting used to the presence that was JARVIS.

“Wh.. What’s going on, JARVIS?”

“There’s been an incident. I’ve sent the Mark VII Suit to Mr. Stark’s location. I suggest you stay put, as you may be at risk as well.”

If there had been any chance left that Bruce would get a good night’s sleep,  _ that _ killed it.

“What?”

“Doctor Banner, have you been in contact with Ms. Romanoff recently?”

“Natasha? No, why?”

“Your concern now should be to contact help. Mr. Stark will arrive shortly. He will be in critical condition, at best.”

_ Tony hurt. Natasha, involved in some sort of danger. _ Banner’s mind raced, then his heart.

There was an electronic beeping, coming from the watch he wore that held a heart monitor. 

“Doctor Banner?”

He struggled to hold himself back from racing towards the worst case scenario. He struggled to imagine his veins staying a normal color. He ruffled his hair.

_ Deep breaths, and exhale _ . The situation at hand required focus, he pulled out his phone with a hand that had stayed the same size.

“I’ll be alright,” he said to JARVIS and himself.

He scrolled through his contacts, feeling wariness when passing Tony’s name. He found what he was looking for, Pepper Potts’ number.

— 

Waking up strapped to medical equipment in an unfamiliar room was something that was not ideal for Tony’s well being. He started to panic and struggle, trying to move his hands to reach for his chest. He found that his right arm had been put in a cast, and bandages wrapped around a good portion of his torso.

A familiar face calmed him down. Pepper put her hands on his chest, saying words that was still unintelligible from drowsiness.

“P— Pep— “ an oxygen mask covered his face, muffling his words. Pepper gently reached for it, taking it off his face.

“Hey, Pep.” he said weakly.

She ran her hands through his hair, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You  _ jackass.” _

_ “ _ Hey, I didn’t do it for the thrill. It’s not like  _ I _ sent a hit on myself out of boredom,”

She didn’t laugh, and her smile was more of worry than amusement.

“Where— “

“We’re in the Tower. JARVIS suggested it, said that a hospital would be too risky, for a reason he won’t tell me.”

“Good,” Tony said. “The less you know, the better. Miss Romanoff didn’t get that memo.”

Another figure stepped into the room. Bruce.

“Oh, Tony…” he said. “Glad you’re alive, man.”

“Good to see you too, Doc. They haven’t gotten to you either, huh.”

“JARVIS said something about Natasha…”

“Yeah, if they went for me, they’d be out for her blood either. Got worried that— “ Tony winced. “They might be after you and the rest too.”

“Well, if that’s the case— “

“Okay, can you  _ please _ tell me what’s going on?” Pepper interrupted. “I know it’s official,  _ Avengers _ business or whatever, but— “

“This affects you too, I know” Tony said. “I.. “

He hesitated. Would they be aware if she was told? They’d been watching  _ him; _ how could Tony be sure they were safe at the moment?

Tony sighed. “Alright, we’re all probably screwed anyway,”

He told the two what he knew; his encounter with Natasha, the content of the drive, and the subsequent attack.

“So this whole time, they’ve been playing us?” Bruce said.

“Not sure. It runs deep, but there’s a possibility that it’s so deep the surface level isn’t aware.”

“But that  _ still _ means we were manipulated,”

Tony tried to find a rebuttal, but couldn't. “Pretty much.”

“Damn!” Bruce thumped his foot against the floor. It startled Pepper, but Tony had faith that he wouldn’t turn into the big guy.

“So what do we do now?”

“I might— might have a plan,”

“You do?” Pepper asked

“Well…” Tony reconsidered his wording. “More of an  _ idea. _ And I may not even have to get off this bed..”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Do the exact thing they’re scared of. HYDRA can’t do shit if they’re not under their benevolent, only mildly threatening SHIELD blanket.”

“Are you saying….”

“Data leak, baby.”


End file.
